Intergalactic War: Contact
by ss2gohan
Summary: This is the tale of how two galaxies came into contact. Thanks to the meddling of a self-styled omnipotent being, the crew of a Federation starship find themselves thrown across the universe into a galaxy far far away.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own either Star Wars or Star Trek, but I do lay claim to the original characters that I've developed for this story.

Hello all, this prologue is an updated version of the one that I posted back in May of 2014. Read and enjoy, let me know what you think!

* * *

**Prologue**

The entity known as Q drifted through space. If anyone could have seen the self-styled omnipotent being at that moment, they would've thought he looked quite odd. Once they had gotten past the sight of someone alive in hard vacuum without a suit. He was lazily reclined in a beach chair, wearing a colorful bathing suit, and sipping quite contentedly at a fizzy drink - complete with umbrella - in his hand. All in all, he seemed completely content with the universe; at least until a feminine voice rang out from behind him and he winced.

"Q! What are you meddling about now?"

A look of hurt formed upon his face, and he sat up and turned to face his accuser, his wife, who stood sternly with arms folded behind him. "My dear? Meddling? Really? I'm doing nothing of the sort, just enjoying the spatial scenery."

His tone begged the question of why in the multiverse would she ask him such a thing. As if he ever meddled. His machinations were far too superb to be labelled as merely meddling.

Lady Q ignored her husband and glanced at a growing object, rapidly approaching, from the direction that he'd been gazing. "Are those humans?"

Maintaining an air of innocence, Q made a show of focusing on the object and feigned shock. "Why, yes, they are! I hadn't even notice-"

"And I thought that we'd agreed, dear _husband_," the last word practically a hiss, "That you were to cease your tiresome dealings with those creatures?"

He raised a lazy finger, "Technically dearest, only you agreed to that, I merely nodded."

Her eyes slit dangerously, "_Q..._"

Q threw up his hands, a vain appeal against the approaching wrath. "My dear, relax, what's about to happen is practically a complete coincidence." He stuttered a bit as she raised her eyebrow, "T-t-there's been almost no interference in the slightest on my part!"

Her furious response was cut off abruptly as that object, now recognizable as a Federation Akira-Class starship, shot over them at high warp. They watched – Lady Q with a scow and Q with a triumphant smirk - as an explosion of blue light appeared and engulfed the small cruiser entirely.

The Lady glared back down at her husband, the object of their conversation now vanished. "Almost no interference?"

Before the entity could formulate a response, another being joined them, fading into existence. This one was an older human, his eyes bright and piercing, and his body translucent and glowing a soft shade of blue. Q openly winced as the man once known in the mortal realm as Qui-Gon Jinn spoke, "He's done much more than 'almost nothing.' He has greatly disturbed the balance of the Living Force, these two galaxies were not meant to come into contact for many more of their centuries."

Whatever fear that had moved Q when the former Jedi had first appeared vanished now. He snorted and stood up from his beach chair, "Upset the balance of the Force? As if forthcoming events on your end of things weren't going to do that anyway. I've done nothing of the sort, please, I've simply-"

A slap to the back of his head cut him off. Physical body or no, that hurt. Rubbing the back of his head, he incredulously spun to look at his assailant, only to find her with a sweet smile on her face.

"I do hope that you know what you've gotten yourself into this time, darling," she said, cocking her head, "I won't be rescuing you from banishment again." She snapped and vanished in a flash of light, leaving Q alone with the specter of the old Jedi Master.

The Lady gone, and Qui-Gon's stern countenance dropped and he smiled wanly. "She's actually gone, at least for the moment. We can speak freely."

Q was still slowly rubbing his head, "You owe me for that one, Jinn; I won't hear the end of it for centuries."

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow and laughed, "Owe you? For letting you interfere where you've wanted to for eons?"

He put his hand down and grunted, "I suppose you have a point there."

"Besides," Qui-Gon continued, "This helps you as much as it does me. Those peoples that you have such an-"

"Tread carefully Jinn," Q's eyes narrowed but the Jedi smirked and continued.

"-affection for will benefit from this."

"As will the beknighted remnants of that Order of yours, I suppose."

Qui-Gon's smirk didn't break. "We come out even."

"Indeed," Q still seemed irritated, "Until next time Jinn." He snapped and a flash of light took the Q away as well.

Qui-Gon turned slowly to where the wormhole had appeared. He snorted to himself, as a long-ago memory surfaced. "Greed can be a powerful ally," he muttered. A smiling tow-headed boy flashed before his eyes, only to vanish and be replaced by harsh mechanical breathing and a lake of fire. He grimaced for a moment, in pain at the memory of infinite potential forsaken. New paths and futures danced before his eyes, and he allowed himself a small smile. 'The Force shifts,' he thought to himself. 'The shroud of the dark side is falling.' 'Perhaps now,' he thought wistfully, 'There will be a greater hope.'

And Qui-Gon Jinn faded away as well.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own either Star Wars or Star Trek, but I do lay claim to the original characters that I've developed for this story.

Hello all! Here it is, Chapter One for your reading enjoyment! The next chapter is mostly drafted, but I've got major edits to make to it before it's ready for posting. I'm guessing at least two weeks until it's up. But for now, read and enjoy! Let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter One**

_Four Months Previous_

"Approaching Spacedock, sir."

"Drop to one-eighth impulse, Mr. Jacobs, let their tractor beams take us in."

As he gave the order, Captain Michael Harris was not the happiest of men. He was actually fairly irritated.

His starship, the Carrollton, had been surveying star systems in an isolated section of the Beta Quadrant, where the Federation hadn't truly ventured since the heady days of Starfleet exploration before the Cardassian War in the 2340s. It had been far from an exciting cruise. With the exception of a few scattered freighters, there had hardly been any contact with other starships, and stellar anomalies requiring investigation were few and far between.

As much as the crew murmured about the boredom - and he joined in with them, silently of course - they all knew the reason why they were in the outreaches of Federation space. With the turmoil of the 2380s, the reach of Starfleet's arm had dangerously shrunk. Far-reaching sections of the Federation were theirs in name only; many hadn't seen the presence of a starship in ages. So Starfleet Command had trusted him and his ship to travel out and "show the flag" - to appropriate an old phrase. And that's what they had done. Explore, visit outer colonies, and deal with bureaucratic minutiae. For an agonizing three years.

By the time that she begun to make her way back to Earth, the Carrollton was possessed with five hundred officers and crew that were restless and well-prepared for a good month or two of R&amp;R, himself included. Except over subspace communication, his crew hadn't seen their families for the entirety of the cruise. They were looking forward to seeing their loved ones in person.

He was an exception, the only family he still had was aboard his ship. Although he would say, of course, that he cared for every member of his crew like family, he was closest with his second officer. Lieutenant-Commander T'Vau had joined his crew eighteen years ago as a relief ensign, and the two of them had eventually formed something like a father and daughter bond. In her time under his command, she'd risen in the ranks - on her own merit, Michael despised nepotism - to her current position as his second and tactical officer.

They'd been planning to spend part of their leave in a tour of old Terran scientific landmarks. He had the programs stored within the holodeck, but there was something different, almost sacred, about being in physical contact with the locations where history had been made. His pseudo-daughter labelled his feelings "illogical," but he knew she silently agreed with him. Her Vulcan pride just wouldn't let her admit it. The two of them were to begin by traveling to the old CERN Particle Collider in Europe. The herculean work of old Earth physicists to discover the mysteries of the universe in "such primitive conditions" had always fascinated the Vulcan, as it had him, and he'd decided to begin their tour there. It would certainly put the last three years of trying to "discover" things themselves into perspective.

All those plans were now moot; hence his irritation.

Yesterday, as they had drawn closer to the Sol System, he'd received a Priority One message from Starfleet Command. He reviewed the text-only order in his mind,

'Halt all shore leave immediately. On arrival in Sector 001, U.S.S. Carrollton NCC-68749 is to dock at Starbase One, and her commanding officer will report to Starfleet Command in San Francisco for debriefing.'

He might not like it, especially after three years of almost no contact with Starfleet Command, but those orders offered no explanation, and they brokered no delay. He stood and turned to his first officer, Commander Odessa Kallos, who was seated at her usual position by the Flight Operations console to the rear of the bridge. "Odessa, you have the conn," he said as he strode to the turbolift.

The commander made the move over to his chair. "I'll keep her in one piece until you get back," she quipped. It was an old joke.

He smirked as the turbolift opened and he stepped inside, "You always do."

"And find out when we're getting our leave back will you?"

"I'll do my best," he replied as the lift doors closed.

The transporter operator looked up as he entered, "Destination sir?"

"Starfleet Command, chief, put me down in the reception area."

"Aye sir."

"Energize."

Michael closed his eyes as the blue glow enveloped him. He could never stand to watch during transport, it made him sick to his stomach.

A warm breeze wafted past him, and he opened his eyes to find himself in the courtyard of Starfleet Command in San Francisco. It had been a while since he had been planetside, the Carrollton hadn't sent had the opportunity to send out away missions very often in the Beta Quadrant, and regulations didn't permit the captain to embark on them without good reason. The humidity of California was a pleasant change from the monotony of a climate-controlled starship, and he enjoyed the feel of a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he made his way towards the Daystrom Administration Building.

"Mike!"

A familiar voice rang out behind him and Michael's irritation faded. He spun around with a grin at the Hispanic woman walking over to him, "Rosa! How the hell are you?"

She grinned up at him, "It's been too long Mike, what, almost ten years now?"

"More or less. Are you still commanding the Madison?"

"More or less," she responded back, reaching out to give his hand a firm shake. "I'm here at Command the majority of the time now, the paperwork is deep enough to swim in."

The sun emerged from behind a brief bank of clouds, enough for the glint of her rank insignia to catch his eye. Michael whistled sharply, "That's a few more pips than you wore the last time that I saw you."

Her hand went to her collar and grazed them softly, "I took over for Admiral Patterson when he retired two years ago; I'm commanding the Eleventh Fleet now." She frowned slightly, "I thought you would have gotten the quarterly fleet communique on that."

He shook his head and smiled wanly, "Not out in the Beta Quadrant, they only copied us on priority communications, so we've been fairly out-of-touch. What else have I missed?"

Her warm brown eyes hardened, "Trouble. You'll get filled in at the briefing. And I'm sorry to have to do this to you after a long deployment, but I'll need you and the Carrollton ready to ship back out within four days."

They emerged from another turbolift into an old conference room on the top levels of the Daystrom Building. There was a veritable sea of grey and command red in the room. Rosa murmured a brief apology and moved away, heading towards a huddle of other flag officers that included Admiral Akaar, the C-in-C of Starfleet. The old man always looked stern, but his expression was even more severe than usual. It unnerved him.

The briefing - and it looked to be a hell of a big one - hadn't begun yet, and he meandered around the room, searching out any familiar faces. One deep voice carried over the others, and he moved towards it.

"-ems to have any idea what in the blazes is going on," the voice, belonging to an older Tellarite, said. "There are captains here from at least four different fleets. If this isn't some exercise, we've got the makings of a major fleet movement." The Tellarite's eyes moved over the crowd and fixed on him. "You, Harris, isn't it? What have you heard?"

Michael didn't recognize the captain, but he answered regardless. "Little to nothing, the Carrollton's been stationed out in the Beta Quadrant for the last three years. We just arrived back in system a little under three hours ago."

The Tellarite snorted in disdain, "So they've kept you in the dark while you've been gone?"

He nodded, a little irritated. He understood the reasoning, subspace transmissions broadcast over such long distances could be easily intercepted, but it still seemed like a mistake to keep Starfleet's exploration arm out of the loop.

He nodded his head towards the huddle of flag officers, "I spoke to Admiral Gutiérrez on the way in. No formal orders yet, but she told me I need to be prepared to redeploy in the next few days."

A single tone echoed through the room, and Rosa's group of flag officers exited to another room, and the assembled captains followed.

'Guess we'll all know why in a minute," thought Michael as he entered and took a seat around a massive conference table.

As the captains and assorted admirals sat down, the silver-haired Admiral Akaar eschewed a seat and stood at a separate raised dais. The speculations and talk quieted quickly.

Akaar stood stiffly, clenching his hands behind his back, and began, "Captains, good morning. Approximately three months ago on stardate 2394.43, a number of our deep-cover agents began hearing hints of a covert initiative occurring within the Typhon Pact. Several of them were able to penetrate a portion of that initiative occurring within Romulan space. They went silent, until early this week."

Michael leaned forward, covert operations within the Romulan Star Empire rarely boded well.

The admiral continued, "In his last databurst before she was apprehended, our agent delivered confirmation of what we were dealing with. At thirty-five shipyards hidden throughout the Typhon Pact, the Romulans and the Gorn have been retrofitting several hundred starships from the various Orion Syndicates. According to her reported, the Orions are being provided with some of the latest power systems, disruptors, plasma torpedo weaponry, and cloaking devices that the Pact has to offer."

His gut hardened. That kind of rearmament program could only mean one thing. His fellow captains obviously thought the same. Surprised and angry murmurs broke out from among them, and Akaar paused until they quieted. Michael thought the pause pointless considering the next statement, the one that every veteran captain among them knew was coming.

"The Typhon Pact are commissioning the Orions to act as proxies for them in a war against the Federation. We've lost all communications from two starbases and five starships in the area near the Tholian border. We suspect that they've been destroyed."

He paused here, as voices rang out. They quieted again. People could argue against some of the decisions Admiral Leonard James Akaar had made, but no one could contest the man's command presence.

"The Federation Council is convening to," he grimaced, "_examine_ the evidence of Orion involvement. However, Starfleet is going to be to make our move now because I, for one, am tired of innocents losing their lives while the bureaucrats debate. Officially, you captains gathered here today are part of a heavy task force engaged in fleet exercises. Unofficially, you'll be engaged in surveillance and defense of our outlying colonies. Admiral Gutiérrez will be in command, and I'll leave the details of the mission to her. Admiral?"

Rosa joined Akaar on the dais and began to speak.

Michael didn't hear her words though, he leaned back in his seat, taking in the import of the C-in-C's words. He looked up, and met the eyes of the Tellarite that he'd spoken to a few moments ago. The captain nodded at him grimly. They both knew what this would lead to, what it would become. Another full-out war. This cold war was about to become a hot one.

* * *

_Present_

The bridge of the U.S.S Carrollton was in chaos, an overhanging cloud of smoke drifted over everything as sparks danced from several overloaded consoles.

They'd been out alone, engaged in a scouting mission in their role as an auxiliary carrier. Cruising at Warp 6, a sudden flux of neutrino emissions had flashed into existence several thousand kilometers directly ahead. The science officer, Lt. Harcrow had barely had enough time to shout a short warning before a brutal impact had sent the bridge crew flying from their stations, flinging them into consoles and bulkheads.

Captain Michael Harris winced as the aforementioned officer pulled him to his feet. "Red Alert," he barked as he stumbled over to his chair. As he collapsed into it, he hit its comm control, "Medical team to the bridge."

'I'm getting too old for this,' he thought wearily, gingerly probing the area of his chest where he'd been flung into the navigation console and grimaced. 'Probably a couple of broken ribs.'

'Lt. O'Mealy, what the hell did we hit? And Commander T'Vau, I need a damage report."

O'Mealy responded quickly, "There's nothing on sensors, sir, running a tachyon sweep to try and detect anything cloaked."

At the science station, Lt. Jon Harcrow shook his head, "I doubt it'll turn up anything. An impact like that one would have knocked out any shipboard cloaking device."

Hand to his chest, Michael nodded in agreement, "I agree, but run the scan regardless, I don't want to be caught flatfooted by any Orions in the area. T'Vau, that damage report?"

The Vulcan didn't respond, and he turned with a twinge of dread to look at his silent second officer. He jumped to his feet, pain forgotten, as he saw her slumped over her console, forehead smeared with green blood from where the two appeared to have violently collided. "Jensen, take her station. T'Vau, can you hear me?"

The lift doors opened and a medical team emerged, moving to the wounded. One of them, a Tellarite, hurried over as fast as his species' short legs would carry him. Pulling out his tricorder, he scanned her, his snort flaring briefly. "Her skull has several hairline fractures and she has a severe concussion, but there doesn't appear to be any serious damage to the brain, I'll get her to sickbay for treatment there."

Harris nodded and the nurse - Ensign Grallin, he remembered absently - tapped his commbadge and spoke a few short words. A second later, the two had disappeared in the tell-tale sparkle of a intraship transporter beam.

Another member of the medical team was running a regenerator over his chest, reducing the pain from sharp to dull, before it faded completely.

"Go easy for a few days," the medical officer whispered with a smile, before moving to treat Ensign Jacobs at the helm, whose left arm was bent a rather unusual angle.

Lieutenant O'Mealy had filled T'Vau's post at tactical, and Michael turned his attention back to him, "Mister O'Mealy, that damage report?"

The middle-aged Lieutenant responded to his question with alacrity, his eyes running over the LCARS interface. "Warp drive is offline," he began. "And there's some minor buckling on the struts for the port nacelle. Engineering reports power fluctuations all over the ship, as well as a ruptured EPS conduit on Deck Seven. Damage control teams have it successfully contained. Minor problems with our long-range sensors as well, the plasma fires from the rupture damaged some of the bio-neural circuitry. Engineer Rollins estimates two hours repair time before they can get them replaced and fully operational again."

An alert sounded from the station and Jensen O'Mealy's face tightened briefly, then relaxed as he read the new report out loud, "Doctor R'Glus reports several casualties, mostly blunt force trauma like Commander T'Vau, no fatalities."

Mike released a breath that he hadn't realized he's been holding, "Good."

They'd had enough of those in the last few months. The Orions hadn't been fooled by their 'maneuvers' - who would be? - and pitched battles had broken out fairly quickly, and as a carrier, the Carrolton had been involved in many of them.

On a ship like his, especially since they'd been involved in long-ranged exploration as long as they had, the crew gained a sense and feeling of family that you didn't find everywhere in Starfleet. Every loss would cut deep, and Michael Harris hated sitting down and dictating a message to inform some family member that their loved wasn't coming back home this time.

He'd known enough of that solemn duty serving as a senior officer in the crucible that were the Dominion and Second Borg Wars. Repeating those same motions these last few months of conflict against the Orions had brought back those and many other painful memories that he'd rather not recall.

The sound of the lift doors opening again pulled him out of his thoughts. As his first officer stepped onto the bridge he gave himself a mental shake, now wasn't the time to reminisce.

"What happened sir?" asked Commander Kallos. From her slightly disheveled appearance, he guessed she'd been sleeping on her off-shift during the impact.

"We're not sure," he replied. "But get Ivory and Nazgul Squadrons ready to launch, I want them running a CAP until we've completed repairs." He turned to Lt. Harcrow at the science station, "Jon, encrypt a subspace message to Admiral Gutiérrez, inform her about our situation and position."

"That might be a problem sir."

"What do you mean?"

His science officer had been hunched over his station since he'd given the order for the tachyon scan, pouring over sensor logs and readouts. Over the last few minutes, Michael had heard snatches of a conversation with stellar cartography. About what, he had no idea.

For a few seconds, no reply came, then the blond man straightened in his chair and looked at Harris with a strange glint in his eye. It twisted his gut in a way he didn't like.

"Lieutenant?"

The answer that came was one that no one had expected, "I can't get a fix on our position...captain, I think that we hit a wormhole."

Activity on the bridge stopped instantly, and jaws sagged around the bridge.

Michael allowed himself a brief second of shock as well before Starfleet training and years of wartime experience took hold.

"Battlestations! Prioritize the sensors, I want them back up yesterday. I don't want a repeat of what happened to the Odyssey."

Commander Kallos moved to Flight Ops in the aft section of the bridge. "Launch our Venture scouts with Ivory and Nazgul Squadrons. Have them fill any holes in our sensors."

As the crew rushed about him, Michael leaned forward in his chair thought back on the last major wormhole discovery twenty years before. And the great interstellar war that resulted in almost the complete devastation of the Alpha Quadrant. The Orions, the Typhon Pact, and now this. He prayed that this wasn't going to turn out as bad as his gut was telling him.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't either Star Wars or Star Trek, but I do claim the original characters that I've developed to play in George and Gene's sandboxes.

Well hello there! Weighing in at about 3600 words, here's Chapter 2! It took me a fair bit longer than I'd planned, I ended up graduating college and then moving cross-country in the interim. We'll see how long it takes on this next one, but I'm optimistic it won't be nearly as long. I've got the entirety of it plotted and mostly drafted already.

For now, read and enjoy! Let me know what you think!

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The sensor operator, Jayk Dattpe, started in surprise at the brief but brilliant explosion of light, and straightened at his station. The readout panel, where his feet had been kicked up a few seconds before, squealed with alerts as the antiquated equipment tried to process what the sensors were telling it.

"What in the nine hells was that?" Captain Alayck was behind him. The lightshow had caught the attention of everyone on the bridge of their Interceptor IV frigate.

A small wisp of smoke was now drifting up from his station. It wasn't any use. After a moment of strained operation, it had spat out an analysis of 'Unknown Energy.' "Not sure," Jayk answered, as he gave the old console a frustrated smack. The damn thing had overloaded the sensors when they tried to analyze it. "Shavit!"

Most of the credits they'd reaped in this sector, that hadn't gone to their overhead in the Zann Consortium, had gone straight into improved weapons for the five ships in their little flotilla. Not into the better sensors they actually needed to hit something.

The pirates had been enjoying good success in this little portion of the Outer Rim; the raid of an enormous Mon Calamari passenger liner had netted them enough credits to arms their ships to defend against increased Imperial Patrols. But striking at Mon Cals just raised the ire of the Rebellion as well as the Empire. Their captain had blundered in, his lust for credits, battle, and advancement in the Consortium the only thing on his greedy mind.

Something was hazily coming into focus on his screen now, a strangely-shaped vessel that the explosion left behind. 'That's a helluva botched drop from hyperspace,' he thought, anger at his captain briefly forgotten. 'And I've never seen a ship like her before.' Putting what was left of the sensors to use, he scanned the new vessel. Its primary hull was saucer-shaped, with the aft splitting catamaran-style that had engines of some sort attached. Arcs of energy were dancing over her durasteel-gray hull, magnifying his difficulty in getting a good reading with antiquated and overloaded equipment.

A bark came from behind him, breaking his concentration. "Boy! Do we have a new victim? Or are you still working out which controls to press?"

Quiet laughs broke out across the bridge, and he bit back a snarl. He longed for the dignified discipline of a Navy ship. But that was another life, when he was still an Imperial officer.

A few moments of pained silence passed, where Dettpe was keenly aware of the attention of everyone on the bridge. Running his eyes over the read-out one last time, Jayk gave his assessment. "It doesn't match anything in our database, but going off of the design, she's a pleasure cruiser of some type. Based on the energy readings, they're experiencing power difficulties after their drop from lightspeed."

The chuckles stopped and silence reigned. A new atmosphere of tension and excitement emerged, one that always came with the appearance of a new source of credits. Alayck stepped into Jayk's line of sight, looking at the sensor station, his eyes alight. "Weapons?" he whispered, almost reverently.

"No identifiable torpedo bays or laser turrets..." A new alert sounded. "But they've raised shields and..." Several new contacts appeared from the cruiser, "They're launching some form of snubfighters, unknown designs." There. As professional as any report he would've given in the Navy.

A grin grew on Captain Alayck's face. "Fighters? This could be fun." Bloodlust replaced the greed in his eyes. "Good, those Mon Cals last week barely put up a fight."

He turned sharply to face the rest of the bridge. "Signal the Forsaken," he barked. "Tell Rowas and his boys to launch." A Rodian nodded eagerly, and spoke quietly into a comm as Alayck continued, "Run dark, take us in slow, thrusters only, I don't want their fighters to see us until we're on top of them. Now..." the old captain faced his motley crew, his savage grin mirrored on their faces. "These poor gentlebeings look a little lost. Let's show them whose space they're in."

'I've got to hand it to him,' Jayk thought as he quietly cleared the data showing the presence of energy weapons from the sensor readout. 'Alayck knows how to get his crew their credits worth.' The pirates had erupted into raucous cheers as they eagerly prepared to swoop down on yet another 'helpless' vessel.

Unfortunately for them, their captain had made enemies lately - too many. And a few of them had put out good-sized bounties on the pirate's head. And now he was looking to score one of them. In the confusion that would result when the 'unarmed ship' responded to their attack. Then he'd claim his prize.

* * *

In the centuries since its founding, fighter craft had never been a common sight within Starfleet. Or within the fleets of most of the Alpha Quadrant powers for that matter. Combat-enabled shuttles or runabouts appeared now and again, but they were a rarity. But the Maquis, they changed all that. Their use of 'Raiders' and the overlooked Peregrine design against the Cardassian Union had raised a few eyebrows at first, but their surprising success perked up a lot of ears at Command. It led to Starfleet's increased production of the tiny craft, where thousands had served with distinction in the Dominion War.

Starfleet took debilitatingly heavy losses in that conflict; in two years almost sixty percent of the Fleet had been lost. Then the Borg came again in the 2380s. Now that the dust had finally begun to settle, the need for cheap and easy-to-produce units to replace their vast losses was clear.

So shipyards from Utopia Planitia to Andoria churned out interstellar fighters; Peregrines, Raiders, Ventures, even old 23rd Century Hornets had burst onto the galactic scene in droves. New designs, such as the Valkyrie, emerged. The Klingons had picked up on the same trend; a deadly little fighter they were calling the Warfang accompanying the Birds of Prey into combat now.

Every starship in the Fleet had a few fighters of some kind aboard, and dedicated Fleet Carriers were beginning to leave the yards as well. One controversial – and classified - group, the Seraphim Build Team at Utopia Plantia, were even in the midst of designing a massive new starship, an expensive fusion of a command ship, fleet carrier, and explorer the likes of which the Alpha Quadrant had never seen. Like they had in Earth's twentieth century, fighters and carriers were changing the scope of warfare once again.

* * *

Ensign Kyle Janson wasn't thinking about any of that.

As he dashed through the corridors towards the Carrollton's hangar deck, the only thing running through his mind was irritation. His first date in seven months had been interrupted. The end of the dry spell was in sight! But whatever that impact had been, it had cut off power to the holodeck in the middle of his carefully programmed flight simulation. The old Earth two-seater Nieuport 11, in which he'd been pulling an Immelmann, had vanished, and all the plans he'd had of impressing his date with his flying skills had figuratively gone down in flames.

The disappearing act had been followed by the Red Alert klaxons a few moments later, and the brusque voice of Commander Kallos over his commbadge, "All pilots, report to your ships." From hence came his mad dash across several decks to the forward section of the saucer, where Ivory Squadron would launch.

As he approached the hanger doors, his commbadge beeped again, this time it was the raspy voice of the CAG, Commander Mancuso, "All right, this is no drill. That collision, whatever the hell it was knocked out our sensors and we've landed in unknown territory. Ivory Squadron, break into flights and form a CAP out to 0.5 AU, pattern Rawlings Gamma. Each of your flights will be joined by a Venture Scouts, you'll need their long-range sensors and tachyon detection. Nazguls—"

'How in the hell did we get into unknown space? The Federation has had this entire sector scouted for decades.' Still in a sprint, he burst through the doors of the hanger deck and collided with a hanger technician. Shouting a quick apology, he kept up his pace, mixing in with Chief Frasier and his deck crew, who were there in force, moving skids of micro-torpedoes to the fighters, and running last-minute diagnostics and quick repairs on what minor battle damage hadn't been repaired from their last skirmish with the Orions almost three weeks past. He passed through the rows of Nazgul's Valkyries till he reached the Peregrines of Ivory Squadron and finally his own fighter.

He sat down in the cockpit of his Peregrine, breathing hard from his marathon, and began running through his pre-flight check. He had just corrected a small misalignment in the torque sensors when a quick flash of blue in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he grinned as his Andorian wingmate, Ve'ka, bounded aboard her own fighter in three quick steps.

With a touch he activated his comm, "Any idea how we ended up in unknown space?"

"Not a clue, pinkskin," He could see the antenna atop her head flexing, reflecting her excited mood. "Don't care really, I need to stretch my wings."

Kyle grunted in agreement, "I feel the same way."

There was a comfortable silence between the two for a moment, both hurriedly going through their individual checks, as a number of deckhands did the same. After only a minute, the deep booming voice of the CAG sounded again, "Ivory Leader to all units, we've got launch authorization, let's punch it."

And they were out! Soaring into the black at one-quarter impulse. Kyle pulled himself into a barrel roll, reveling in the freedom for a moment before settling into his flight formation, Lieutenant Tanner's Peregrine taking lead. 'No matter how real it looks,' he thought. 'The holodeck can't ever match this.'

"That'll be enough of that Six," Mancuso's voice was stern. "No more acrobatics, stay in formation. I don't want us to get caught by anything with our pants down.

"Ruining all our fun," Ve'ka muttered over a private channel as they began their patrol.

* * *

Rowas grinned as his three squadrons of fighters left the Forsaken's hold, heading at their best speed towards their unsuspecting prey. His motley assortment of old Z-95 Headhunters and BTL-B Y-Wings might not have been able to stand up to a modern Imperial Squadron, but they could pack a punch when it came to any freighter convoy or passenger liner. Squinting at the tiny HUD display, he examined the readout on his approaching foe.

The Twi'lek's smile grew, the fifteen ships looked like nothing more than glorified shuttles. He loved shuttles. They made such pretty little explosions when you pierced their engine compartments just right. Even better, he had them outnumbered two-to-one, and their little mothership had even gone to the trouble of not closing their bay doors. The fore of the little saucer laid there open and inviting, just begging for a few concussion missiles to be tossed their way. These frakkers didn't know what was coming to them.

His comm beeped as one of them attempted to hail him, an authoritative voice in an unknown language filling his ears. Tongue dancing over the points of his sharpened teeth, he snarled orders. "Headhunters with me to engage their shuttles. Y-Wings, hit the big bantha, ion cannons only, disable their engines, I don't want a torpedo sending the whole thing up before we can kriffin' board her."

A few grunts of acknowledgment came over the channel, and they accelerated, his twenty-four Z-95s gaining a quick lead against the slower Y-Wing group. With luck, he thought, they'd have all their opponents blown out of space in time for the bombers to disable this pleasure cruiser's engines unopposed.

The unknown - and, he suspected, human - voice, was harsher now, and several fiery orange shots flashed past his canopy. Laughing, he threw his fighter into a spin, bracketed the offending craft and fired, crimson lasers peppering her as shields sprang to life.

* * *

Kyle grunted as he threw his Peregrine into a series of spiraling maneuvers, evading the oncoming fire. The bastards had come in hard and fast, brushing aside Mancuso's warning shots and letting loose up with a deadly rain of plasma.

Fortunately, their weapons weren't as formidable as they appeared, only on par with a Type-V phaser. But those were still deadly in groups. And their fighters were more maneuverable than any Orion ship he'd seen in the last few months.

So far, the Ivories were holding their own, even outnumbered over two-to-one. Nine of the unknown e-shaped fighters had gone, but it hadn't come without cost. Third Flight had lost two fighters so far, and their Venture scout was dead in the water, plasma streaming from its port side.

Ve'ka's voice came over the comm, her voice angry, "Ivory Seven to Five. Sir, Third Flight's getting cut to pieces. Permission to break off and engage."

The response didn't come from Lieutenant Tanner, but Commander Kallos in Flight Ops, "Negative Lieutenant Ve'ka, stay close to the Carrollton. Nazgul Squadron will cover for Third Flight. That second group of fighters is on fast approach, and they're armed with some form of Breen energy dampener."

In the distance, he could see Commander Arobor's Valkyries decloak, and drop down on the fighters hitting Third Flight like an axe splitting a log. Six more of the little e-shapes blossomed into fireballs, the rest turned and made a hard burn back to wherever they came from. Sensors weren't picking up any active signatures in the area.

"You heard the lady." Lieutenant Tanner finally spoke. "Let's hit those y-fighters of theirs before they can get the Lady C."

Shaking his head, Kyle pulled his Peregrine up into a sharp turn and followed the rest of his flight. The third enemy squadron was only a hundred kilometers from the Carrolton. And these boys weren't as maneuverable as the other fighters had been. He gave a whoop as he let loose a burst of phaser fire that clipped one of them, sending it spinning into one of its fellows, annihilating them both in a fiery explosion.

But his elation evaporated almost instantly. "Janson, I'm hit! They got me with the dampener, I can't maneuver!" Ivory Eight's voice was frantic.

"I've got ya Jenkins, don't worry." Ve'ka's fighter had pulled a u-turn, and he did the same, dialing up to full impulse.

"It's going to be fine Tanya," he said, as he let loose on two more of the little y-fighters that were closing in on the young ensign's fighter.

It wasn't to be. A crimson bolt – later he would realize it was some sort of torpedo - intersected with her impulse engines and her fighter detonated, the flash momentarily blinding him. Her scream echoed in his ears, and his blood boiled.

Eight's killer had turned hard and was giving the hard burn back to its carrier, along with the remaining three of its companions, Ivory Squadron had proven her mettle today. But they weren't done yet. His sensors went crazy, alerts going off as four new large signatures appeared less than ten thousand kilometers away. Knife-fighting range for starships. They were already firing, the starfield filling with plasma, and it was focused on the Carrollton.

But his attention had narrowed, almost to tunnel vision, as he stared at the fleeing ion trails of Ensign Tanya Jenkins's killers. He was dimly aware of shouted orders over the comm, the X.O.'s voice ordering them to break off from the fighters and engage the heavy ships at will. Torpedoes free.

He made the adjustments unconsciously, as he, Tanner, and Ve'ka spun to avoid harsh green fire coming from one of the new contacts, modifying his micro-photons to detonate at proximity. A detonation to starboard. Third Flight's wounded Venture was gone, erupting into a white sun as her small warp core breached, the shockwave sending the fighters who killed her tumbling.

They hadn't taken casualties like this in all their skirmishes with the Orions.

His eyes focused back on Jenkin's killers. They'd taken away too many of his friends today.

Lieutenant Tanner was on the same page as him apparently. "Janson, Ve'ka, set your photons to proximity. Nazgul Squadron and First Flight is forming up on the new ships. Let's take out the rest of these bastards."

Ve'ka's voice was tight with the same anger and anguish he felt, "Got it pinkskin. Let's show the little _klahzs_ what happens when you run from Starfleet."

"Ratchet up your impulse to 125," Tanner continued. "We'll rake them in a high pass."

Kyle grinned, despite himself, "Got it."

And they went to work.

* * *

The bridge of the Ill Gain was chaos, and Captain Alayck was furious. In between shouting coordinates to the gunners, Jayk barely had time to be amused by the apoplexy. Rowas's squadrons had been shattered, and the remnants were retreating under covering fire from one of their ships, IPV-type patrol craft.

'Even if Rowas makes it back,' he thought, 'the captain won't let him live long.'

The Corellian was roaring at the Twi'lek over the comm now, ignoring his crew as they tried to bracket the cruiser that had caused all the trouble. That ship was firing at them now and moving like nothing he'd seen before. Five hundred meters long, and it danced like a corvette; long, deadly beams traced their ships, leaving fire in their wake.

Alayck's shouting match ended abruptly as his erstwhile squadron leader's voice rose in a loud scream and ended in a burst of static.

Dettpe glanced down at the sensor screen, "He's gone captain, the sleemos just destroyed the last of our fighters."

One of the crew, a Neimoidian, spoke up, "Captain. This ship, it must be some new Imperial prototype. We should retrea-"

The captain cut him off, "Run! After they've blooded us like this? Hells no, we like a good fight. It weeds out weaklings-like you Lugol."

His target shrank, and Alayck strode forward to the center of the bridge, "Signal to the rest of our ships," he said. "Ignore the fighters for now, focus all fire on their port engine. She's always twisting it out of the line of fire, it has to have been damaged."

* * *

"Ivory Squadron's just mopped up the last of the fighters, sir," reported Commander Kallos from Flight Ops. The Carrollton rocked slightly, as laser blasts from two of the smaller ships impacted the shields.

Sensors had come back up just in time to detect the approaching four vessels, there was another holding position 500,000 kilometers from their position, lobbing long-range missiles at them. The things only hit like a wet spitball, but First Flight of Ivory was moving to disable them anyway, their phasers picking off the little missiles as they went.

"Cruisers moving to bracket us," the steady voice of O'Mealy came from tactical.

"Evasive pattern Kirk Epsilon," Michael barked. "Have Nazgul Squadron form up and engaged the smaller two ships, leave the cruisers to us." The shaking lessened for a moment as the Carrollton shot between two of the bigger ships, leaving their opponent's trap in shreds. He winced as another fighter, one of Nazgul Squadron, detonated in a hailstorm of crimson fire.

"Lieutenant Harcrow, load fours probe with our sensor logs. Launch them as close as you can approximate to the entrance of the wormhole."

Harcrow nodded grimly, and the captain turned his attention back to the battle at hand. "Quantum torpedoes, target their carrier. Fire!"

The first pair of the six bright blue torpedo bulbs hit the carrier's shields, which flared dark red before vanishing completely. The others speared the carrier amidships and it split in two, the aft section exploding while the front of the ship tumbled, trailing debris and crew into the black of space.

Captain Michael Harris grinned. "Ensign Jacobs, move us towards that wreckage. Lieutenant, have you launched those probes yet."

The blond man looked up, "Aye sir."

"Good, as soon as we're within five thousand kilometers, lock a tractor beam on what's left of that carrier, and put it to starboard. I want to use it to soak up some of their fire on our next pass."

Harcrow grinned and his native Georgian drawl emerged for a moment as he replied, "Aye sir."

"Ensign, move us back, keep them to our starboard as much as possible. Jensen, I want frequent short bursts of phaser fire, half-power, let's see if we can blind their sensors…"

Another detonation rang out as one of the small ships in the distance succumbed to the fire of Nazgul and Ivory Squadron. A few cheers broke out across the bridge. The jubilation was short-lived though.

A sudden explosion cut him off. Their enemy had out-maneuvered him. Vibrant green and crimson fire suddenly concentrated to port, on the nacelle, still weakened from their unexpected journey through the wormhole. Drive plasma spewed as it was breached sending the Carrollton into a tail spin, and Michael found himself flung violently into an all-too-familiar console.

His head struck something. Hard. He gazed up at the ceiling. Odessa Kallos was kneeling over him. She was shouting something. Mike tried to concentrate, but he couldn't make it out. It was so distant. He was tired. What had they been doing? It had seemed so important. He blinked slowly, and then all faded to black.


End file.
